


Paranoia by Crystal

by GO_Library_archivist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/pseuds/GO_Library_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>[story by Crystal]</b>
</p><p>Since the near-Apocolypse, Crowley has been watching his back. Unbeknownst to him someone else has as well</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia by Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from [Quantum_Witch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/profile): This story was originally archived at [The Good Omens Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Good_Omens_Library), which I maintained for eight years until I closed it due to lack of funds and decreased usership. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing the GOL's stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in July 2013. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Good Omens Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheGoodOmensLibrary/profile), or through the [GO_Library_archivist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/profile) account.

  
[Paranoia](viewstory.php?sid=141) by [Crystal](viewuser.php?uid=24)  


  
Summary: Since the near-Apocolypse, Crowley has been watching his back. Unbeknownst to him someone else has as well  
Categories: [General Fanfic](browse.php?type=categories&catid=1) Characters:  Aziraphale  
Genres:  General  
Warnings:  None  
Challenges:  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: No  
Word count: 2513 Read: 117  
Published: 07 Oct 2005 Updated: 07 Oct 2005 

n/a by Crystal

Anthony J. Crowley did not consider himself a paranoid person.

Sure he watched his back, all demons did. Demons did not like each other; closest relationships got were a mild dislike smothered in a condecending sort of disdain.* Living with a bunch of chaps that would rather rip your guts out than point out the nearest post office was mildly disconcerting and usually left a lasting impression upon a persons pysche.

What left an even _bigger_ pyschological kink in your brain was pissing off all those foaming nutcases by, for example, preventing an event they all had been waiting for since Lucifer's fall. Crowley wasn't exactly the model demon to begin with, as anyone in Hell would tell you, and with crimes such as losing** the anti-christ and raising up arms against the Almighty Master of Darkness on his head, he doubted Hell would see fit to practice their rare compacity for mercy.

So, naturally, Crowley was the teeny-ist bit on edge. The phrase "things are too quiet..." had seemed to sum up pretty much everything until that afternoon.

He had been walking through town, heading for the traffic terminal in hopes of causing some commute home chaos with a few malfunctioning stop lights and the occasional fender bender, when he felt his instincts stir up to tell him something was not quite right. He had turned around quickly, feeling as though some outsider's eyes were cutting into his back, and saw nothing but the normal commuters making their way through town.

Crowley had shook of the feeling, associating it with a severe lack of sleep*** and the three cups of Irish coffee**** he had had that morning and went about his way.

Halfway down the block he felt it again. Three blocks later the same feeling returned. On everystreet corner he swear he caught a glimpse of someone rushing into the crowd the moment his head swung around.

Around the next two blocks is when Crowley began to panic. Hell, he thought feverishly, had had it. They lulled him into a false sense of security and now they were going to strike.

Crowley did what any other self respecting demon would have done. He ran for his immortal life.

\----------------

*Though Crowley had always wondered about Hastur and Ligur after a particuliarly awkward walk-in to a hotel room that involved lots of candles and the kind of scented soaps that gave you a migriane in one whiff. The demons insisted it was a satanic ritual created by some unknown dark order of priests but Crowley had sworn he heard Whitney Houston playing in the backround.

**Though he thought it more of a misplacement, very much in the sense Aziraphale would speak of his flaming sword.

***Sleep, Crowley realized a few naps too late, is very much like a drug. Even if you happen to be an immortal being of darkness with no need for rest the minute you put your head to that pillow you're already gone.

****For those who don't have the wonderous gift of Irish blood in their veins will be interested to know what exactly Irish coffee is. Think of the phrase "Would you like some coffee with your alcohol?" and you have gotten the basic idea.

\-----------------

"They're trying to kill me Sable, I know it!" Crowley groaned, drowning his mounting sorrows with the sharp taste of his martinee.

Raven Sable looked upon his friend with a practiced sort of pity. They were sitting in one of Raven's nouveau restaurant balcony's, enjoying what looked like two peas and a slug in a leaf of lettuce. Raven picked up his wine glass and sipped at its bitter, biting contents before allowing a thin smile to rest upon his face.

"Anthony, I'm sure you are just overreacting. We both know Hell isn't one to play games, especially with someone on their highest list." He said calmly, placing his wine glass down with a soft clinking sound.

Crowley glanced at the slim man. He had always known Raven, as he had always known all the other riders by sight and nervous feeling in his gut. It had been in Venice when they had gotten the chance to truly sit down and talk, finding many things in common with one another in surprisingly pleasant ways.

Both Raven and Crowley were modern creatures, preferring the here and now over the life long past. And though Raven was much more ruthless than Crowley, they both had similiar ideas when it came to doing their jobs. Raven went big, not just one or two cities, but one ore two countries, much like Crowley preferred the slow tarnishing of a thousand souls over the corruption of one. Many of Raven's conquest left easy spoils for Crowley while several of Crowley's pocketed politicians and leaders helped Raven's business flourish.

The two met about twice a year, depending upon circumstance and occupation at the moment. Then issue of the Apocolypse-that-wasn't was still a sore subject* but as long as it's details were avoided the two could still talk in peace.

Crowley squirmed in his seat a bit, ignoring the obligatory writhing hunger in his stomach and downed the rest of his drink. Without even calling to a waiter it was filled again, complete with a pierced olive on top.

"That's the thing Sable. They're _playing_ with me!" he exclaimed, dropping the martinee glass down onto the table. "No eternal damnation, not fire and brimstone, no gapping hole in the ground ready to swallow me up! Just this constant... constant..." He explained, grasping for a word.

"Anxiety?" Raven offered, raising a trim eyebrow.

"Yeah. Anxiety..." Crowley muttered, losing his half pyschotic ramblings. He sighed helplessly and stood up, allowing the four or five martinee's to leave his system with little more than a wince.

Raven looked up at the demon and offered a sly smile, raising his wine glass in a pointed matter.

"Think of it this way Crowley: fighting against the devil is futile so it's best just to ignore this 'feeling' of yours and do your job as best you can. Heaven and Hell seem to want to forget this whole ordeal ever happened, and punishing you would be admitting to the entire thing. Why don't you just relax and start som chaos? It's bound to make you feel better."

Crowley smiled weakly, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I should just calm down... It's nothing." He muttered, more to himself than the man beside him. With a few more mumbled comments he left.

A pair of pale arms snaked around Raven's neck, enclosing him in a loose hug. Greasy white hair brushed across the dark man's cheek and his smile turned into a smirk.

"You're late Chalky."

White huffed at name** and sat down beside the Raven, staring at him with waxen grey eyes.

"I was busy in the Paper Recycling Plant. You know just one misplaced cigarette butt could set the whole place aflame.." White said offhandedly, a dreamy look on his pale face. He turned from Raven to the once occupied seat across from them, a smile flitting across his lips. "You were speaking with the demon?"

Raven nodded his head, tracing his thin beard with the tips of his fingers.

"He's having trouble with Hell. Seems they may not be so understanding or evasive as he originally thought."

"I'm sure he'll be fine in the end..." White said, supressing a chuckle. "..if clever enough."

Raven's smirk widen a fraction and he picked up his wine glass, raising it in the air.

"To the future." he said, watching as White picked up a glass of some undefinable liquid and tapped it against his own.

\-----------------

*Raven had grudgingly admitted to Crowley that the Three had been trapped in a sort of Limbo for a while with nothing but each others company and complete nothingness to pass the time. While this wasn't an entirely horrible situation, it was still rather nasty. He had said, in a tired voice, that trapping War in a room with nothing to punch, kick, provoke or taunt was, all in all, a very bad idea.

**White had gotten that name, and several others, one of the first times he had met Scarlett and Raven. The two took, in his opinion, a sick pleasure in finding any name that referred to his primary color. They had agreed that Chalky was the most eloquent and White had proceeded in making both their beverages undrinkable without burning out half their throats.

\----------------

The weeks passed and each day Crowley's newfound calm began to leave him piece by piece. Every comment Raven made began to slip away as his stalker continued to follow him.

Sometimes he would be left alone for days on end, other times he would feel the eyes on him every minute. Every nerve he had was frayed and it began to manifest itsself in every thing he did.

Finally, just as he was about to reach his snapping point, he decided to Hell with it all. He was going to get the sick bastard who had been making his life unbearable for weeks now, even if it was a futile attempt. If he managed to subdue his stalker Hell was not going to sit on it's ass and let him go like that. One last going out, Crowley decided as he left his comfortable flat, but by Jesus and all things Holy and foul would he make that bastard pay.

As he started his way down the street he could feel the eyes watching him. _Good_ , he thought, _take the bait..._

He made his way to the park, a place frequented by agents of all kinds and no stranger to odd going ons. He stopped halfway through and waited for that gut feeling of his to tell him when to strike.

When he heard the slightest russle of leaves and creak branches he lept, black wings unfurling out behind him in a magestic display. To hell with caution for humans; if this was his last hurrah he might as well make it a flashy one.

He sailed through the trees and hard onto the ground, pinning down the wrists of the writhing form of his tormenter with both hands securely grasped. Taking a moment to blink out the leaves and dust that clouded his vision he glared down at the stilling form below him.

If he were a human his breath would have left his body at the sight beneath him.

"A...Aziraphale?!?"

The angel glared back at Crowley, a look of upmost outrage painted on his features. He squirmed fruitlessly and gave the demon another piercing glare.

"Yes Crowley, now will you _please_ get off of me!" Aziraphale exclaimed. Crowley stared mutely at the angel, confusion evident in his eyes.

"Aziraphale, YOU were the one stalking me?!" He asked hysterically. Aziraphale let out a sigh.

"Now really dear, I wouldn't call it _stalking_. I was _watching_ you, you know, like a guardian angel." He explained slowly, eyes flitting to the demon's wings. "And really Crowley, I thought you'd have more tact then to allow your wings to show like that! Any human could come by and.."

Crowley released the rambling man, lifting himself up and tucking his wings back into his back. He offered Aziraphale a hand and pulled him up, admist much thanks and fuss from the ruffled angel.

Once settled comfortably on one of the many park benches Crowley gazed at Aziraphale, scrutinizing his every move. Aziraphale flushed a bit, staring at his feet in an averting way.

"I suppose you'd like an explanation.." he began. Crowley snorted loudly.

"No, watching my movements for weeks and weeks without my knowledge or consent is usually a thing I let slide with a slap on the wrists first time around. It's strike two that will get you." Crowley said sarcastically. Aziraphale sighed.

"I understand your frustration Crowley but I assure you there's a perfectly acceptable explanation for all this and it is..." He stopped, losing all train of thought. He looked up shyly at Crowley through his light bangs.

"You see.. I was worried."

"Worried?!" Crowley cried, staring at the angel as though he had sprouted an extra wing. "About _what_??"

"About YOU of course!" Aziraphale burst out. "I was worried that maybe you were lying about Hell leaving you alone! I know you, you'd keep it to yourself for no good reason then get yourself destroyed for it!" He explained, face flushed. "I couldn't believe that Hell would take kindly to such behavior and well... I just wanted to make sure... you were.. well.." He finished weakly.

Crowley continued to stare at the angel as he lowered his head, blue eyes misting over with the beginnings of tears.

"Call me soft but I can't imagine going through another six thousand years, or even six weeks, without knowing you're around making trouble and keeping my on my toes." Aziraphale said quietly, gripping his hands together until his knuckles turned white. "I'm awfully fond of you, despite all your tempting and such. I suppose it took the near-Apocolypse to realize it."

Crowley smiled reluctantly, placing a firm hand on the angel's shoulder.

"The feeling's mutual angel. Just.. if you're worried, please just _ask_ next time instead of scaring me out of my wits."

Aziraphale smiled, nodding his head. The pair stood up, strolling out of the park amist pleasant conversation and banter.

As they reached the exit Aziraphale grew quiet, eyes glazing over with thought. Crowley glanced at his companion and placed a hand on his arm, waking the man from his thoughts.

"Something wrong again angel?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. Aziraphale smiled weakly and looked straight ahead.

"What if.. what if Heaven and Hell do decide to punish us?" He asked softly. "It's not entirely unlikely. What... what will we do?"

Aziraphale turned to see Crowley smirked, staring up at the sky as if directing it towards God himself.

"Then we'll do the same thing we did before. We'll fight. And hope everything turns out well in the end." He added.

"Agreed. Where shall we go now?" Aziraphale asked.

"The Ritz I guess, unless you want to try some of Sable's famous cuisine." Crowley said. Aziraphale made a face.

"I'd rather eat from an American fast food restaurant than one of his, thank you very much." The angel said, crossing his arms infront of him. Crowley laughed.

"The Ritz it is. Somethings never change."

Aziraphale smiled.

"No, no they don't.

\----------------

 

(Please forgive and spelling mistakes I made...)

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://library.good-omens.net/viewstory.php?sid=141>  



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